


A Ballad

by outofordxr (orphan_account)



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/outofordxr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emlyn is a sad, sad girl. She has an amazing best friend, a decent home life, and marvelous grades. Lyn however, takes it as another life--participating in unhealthy, reckless behavior. She sees herself as the child of destruction. Can anyone save her before it is too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ballad

I slammed a numb hand on a screaming alarm clock and promptly looked for the kill switch. It sounded like sirens. I could imagine it, the ambulance shrieking down the road as I was dying, and the paramedics shaking me awake. That’s what an alarm clock was like. I lifted my head and fumbled with the digital, plastic box abusing my ears. As soon as it was dead, I flushed my face in the cotton sack dripping with dreams. I sit up, throw my thin blankets to the side and throw my thin legs to the other side. I use my feet to observe the hardwood surface below my cloud. Sometimes the flat forest swayed, but today it was not as restless. I stood. My floor creaked. Fat. Fat. Fat. Faaaat.  
I slid a cold foot into a cold boot and duplicated the action. I was empty. I hadn’t had nutrition in a day or two. I didn’t care. I fixed my shorts before heading into the hallway, through the blubber factory kitchen and out into the front yard. Snow was sloshing against the brick ship, seeping into the cracks and swallowing my feet repeatedly. The snow swallowed my feet again and again as I made my way to the end of the drive way for the newspaper, slowly. Cold plastic on icy fingers. Blue eyes looking up to a smog sky.  
Dad left already. I throw the newspaper in the recycling bin, and bring the plastic bag with me to my cave. Set bag down. Slip off shoes. Swap out shirt. Trade shorts for jeans. Replace shoes. I throw my tangled brown hair into a ponytail. Warm up time. I smile in the mirror before jogging back to the kitchen.  
“Good morning, Daddy.” I say sweetly. Dad left already. I open a bag of wheat squares. Put two of them in the toaster (150). Dad left already. I wait for the shotgun of the toaster, the starting gun of the day. Dad left already. Sprinkle some crumbs on the counter. On a plate. I set the toast on the plate to slip on my new winter jacket. It envelops me, constricts me, swallows me. Each tooth clicks with satisfaction, my jacket licking its lips from the sustenance I provided. I’m still cold. Dad left already.  
Half way down the street I tear up and throw the toast under a tree for the birds. I take in a pure, crisp breath and sigh. I’m in control, here. I control how I eat. How I look. How I live.


End file.
